


In The Right Direction

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alleyway sex oops, Established Relationship, I think I tried to write a bit of dirty talk I'M SO SORRY, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, sassy Sam is sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had known just where to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Right Direction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niccotin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niccotin/gifts).



> So about 500 years ago, **Niccotin** gave me a prompt of Sam/Gene, and the words silence, indecision, and this is what happened because of it.
> 
> Beta done by **Loz** , many thanks! Any left over mistakes can be blamed on me!

Gene watches the unmarked car pull up, squinting at the brightness of the headlights. It parks behind and slightly catty-corner to the Cortina, effectively blocking that half of the lane.

The engine idles for a few moments before switching off, and Gene aims for casually disinterested but takes another drink of whisky. Even in the almost darkness, the one street light does a more than adequate job of brightening the way, and he's got his eyes on his DI all the while. Sam exits the car, quietly but for the scuff of his heel on stone, and his intent seems obvious – there's only so many reasons he'd have come looking for Gene.

While a cold wind blows and he wraps his arms about himself, huddling down into his jacket, he's radiating obvious concern. Gene sees it and, visibly at least, he remains unmoved by it, as solid as a rock. On the inside, he's somewhat touched that Sam's gone through all the effort of tracking him down, not that Gene had left details on where he could be found. Sam had known just where to find him. The smug prick.

Sam's lips purse into a frown, and for all the unspoken sympathy he's shown already, there's an overly confident swagger in his steps. His too-tight trousers cling to his hips rather perfectly, his jacket swaying along with the rhythm of his walk. Sam's not been invited, but he's intruding anyhow, confident where some other subordinate would have thought about overstepping their bounds. He could be a bitter bastard if he wanted to, bitter like the cold winter wind, and turn Sam away. Gene doesn't want to, which is telling in ways he doesn't want to consider.

So, Gene nods by way of greeting, settling against the iron grating of the fence, the cold weight of it cutting through his coat and the rest of his kit, firm against his back. Sam nods, giving the faintest of smiles in return. Gene knows it's the silence that's most telling, even beyond Sam finding him so easily. He clearly gets the gist of Gene's mood.

Gene's mood. He goes on not saying anything, tips his flask back to his mouth. Sam takes his place to Gene's right, stays blessedly silent. His leather jacket creaks, but it's how their arms are just _barely_ touching that Gene finds more distracting. He always pays attention to the little things, almost always – no, that's a bloody lie. Whenever they touch, he _notices_ it, whether it's intentional or not. Whenever they don't, he thinks about how, with just a little more effort, they might have.

Whenever they do, he hopes to make the best of it, in whatever way they can.

He drinks a little more – the silence is nice. Only, because it's Sam that's decided to join him, it doesn't last.

'You come here often?'

Gene grunts and holds out the flask, hoping that's the trick that will get Sam to shut back up. 'You're shivering,' he says with a glare, and Sam's gaze flickers from the flask, to Gene, and back again to the flask. For a moment, all he does is stare at it. 'Go on then,' Gene adds, his patience wearing to its end. 'Should warm you right up.'

There's a few other choice words he could snap at his indecisive deputy, and just as he's about to go off on him, Sam finally makes up his mind and reaches out to accept what Gene's offered. He takes a drink, closing his eyes to savour the mouthful he's swallowed down, tilting his head back to lean it against the grating.

It gives Gene the chance to enjoy another moment of quiet, but he knows he's only delayed the inevitable.

'I don't do small-talk,' he all but growls. Sam nods, clearly in agreement. 'I don't know what you're doing here, but it isn't going to work.'

Sam chuckles, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 'I haven't got any ulterior motives, Guv. You've been acting off all week long, that's all... just thought there might be something you wanted to say.'

Gene does growl this time, pushing away from the fencing. He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep himself from socking Sam one for being such a mouthy twat, stomping over to the Cortina and kicking at the ground. He shoots a glare back at Sam, who's staring back calmly, lifting the flask back to his mouth. His head tilts back again as he takes a swallow, and Gene's glare softens to simple staring. Sam has a way of making the most of every slight, mundane thing. How he can turn taking a drink of whisky into something so intimate, so warm, it goes beyond comprehension.

But Gene does stare, lingering, _longing_ , something tight balling in his chest. He watches as Sam swallows, as he opens his eyes, licks at his lips. With a sigh, Gene stomps back over to stand beside him, yanking his hands from his pockets and folding his arms across his chest. Sam smirks, and offers the flask back over, turning even that small gesture into something grand – like he's making a show of peace. Gene grimaces and snatches it right out of his hand.

But Sam's still smirking as Gene takes his next drink, and there's just enough light to see the colour on Sam's cheeks. 'What do you want from me, Sam? I'm not going to open up and spill my guts, turn into a weepy bird – who do you think you're talking to, Cartwright?'

Sam chuckles again, shaking his head. 'God, never. You don't have to say anything if you don't need to, Guv – just, I'm here if you needed to, that's all.' He shrugs, and Gene passes the flask back over. Sam accepts it with a 'ta'.

He could spill it all to Sam, if it was needed – if there's anyone he trusts, who knows he's human, with limits, with faults, it's Sam. Most others forget just how human he really is, that even the great Gene Genie can cock it all up. Sam, though, knows him from the inside out – Gene's equally aware of all of Sam's tricky idiosyncrasies. He's seen Sam at his best, at his worst – and the thing is, Sam's seen the same with him.

'Gene?'

'Yeah,' he says, grunting in annoyance – it's mostly feigned. 'I come here plenty – whenever I need to think too much, this place always suits the mood.' He fixes a very pointed stare on Sam, just waiting for the follow up – all Sam does is stare back at him, eyes wide and dark.

Sam had been with him the last time he'd needed to come here – it was the tail end of Sam's little fiasco with Warren, after all, when Sam had been all too eager to rock the boat, had seen what the backlash was like. Gene had told Sam about Harry Outhwaite, just to let his DI know they were on the same page. That even he could, and had, messed things up. Sam had listened, and judged him without _judging_ him. He still remembers it all so clearly, the smell of the air, the taste of the whisky. The company, in its own way, had been particularly fine.

Of course, he'd learned things about Sam in return – though every waking moment with Sam was an eye opening experience, in one way or another. Sam had boundaries, his limits, his morals – but this was Gene getting a look at the other side of him. He never could have suspected, on first meeting his new DI, that he would turn out to be the sort of man who would lock a murder suspect up inside a giant fridge.

Trust does funny things to a person.

Gene huffs out a laugh, not that Sam's done anything at all. No, perhaps prudently, Sam's kept his mouth shut, even as Gene's thoughts had wandered. Is the universe taking the piss today? Sam couldn't have shown up just to show that, sometimes, yes, he can keep his mouth shut and, in the process, keep his smart-arsed comments to himself.

'I'm impressed.'

'Hmm?' Sam passes the flask back to Gene. He might have come off as genuinely confused, if not for the twitch at the corner of his lips. Gene's not the only one who's finding it hard to keep from smiling.

'Must have taken all of your bloody resolve to keep that smarmy gob of yours shut. Thanks.'

Sam huffs, almost a chuckle. 'Didn't feel like kicking a man when he's already down.'

Gene ponders what Sam's said, takes another drink of his whisky. 'That's the difference between you and me, isn't it?'

Sam shrugs. 'Well, what can I say? You caught me on a good day.'

Gene hesitates a moment after that, passing the flask from hand to hand. Seeming to have made up his mind, he tilts his head back slowly, takes an equally long, slow drink. Gene could always try back tomorrow, if an emotional kicking was what he was after – and Sam might just be happy enough to give it to him, or angry enough, if Gene pushed and punched at all the right buttons. Only they both know it isn't _that_. He hands the flask back over, and Sam takes it. Gene's not quite sure what to say.

As Sam tips the flask back to his mouth, Gene laughs out right. The knot in his chest loosens, just slightly. 'Lucky me.'

When Sam lowers the flask, licks the whisky from his lips, the smile he slants at Gene sends the rest of the tension packing, just like that. Sam passes the flask back to him, but doesn't let go right away. Their fingers brush, Gene giving a tug – Sam lets go. 'Might want to reconsider that, Guv – just finished off the last of your whisky. Just how lucky are you, really?'

Gene claps him on the shoulder with his unoccupied hand, gives a tight squeeze – Sam grimaces, because it's just that side of too tight. 'Must be your lucky day too, Sammy-boy – you buy me a new bottle and I'll let bygones be bygones. How does that sound?'

Sam's smirking at him now, all tight angles. 'Perfectly reasonable, that's how it sounds.'

Gene leaves his hand on Sam's shoulder. He moves his face closer, pauses – as if he needs to make up his mind – only then Sam's doing it for the both of them, mostly closing the gap. He hesitates at the very end, turning to look one way and then the other down the alley. Gene's hand drops away from Sam's shoulder, and Sam tilts his head back towards the cars. 'Follow me.'

Gene doesn't have to be asked twice. Sam smirks as Gene quickly follows him, Sam's own heels clicking rapidly against the stonework. He stops and turns about, and by then Gene's caught up with him. Sam's hands shoot up, fast as anything, but they're achingly gentle as they frame Gene's face. The pressure of his fingers are persistent enough, and that's Sam pulling Gene right in.

Their mouths are almost touching now, and the anticipation is heady. Sam's eyes flick back up to Gene's eyes, and as they press in close, the first dry brush of their lips quickly dissolves into noisy, open mouthed kissing. Gene groans, Sam tugging back, gone wide eyed as he searches Gene's face – only then he's diving back in, nipping at Gene's lower lip, kissing him harder, needing it more. That's what pulls Gene back into it completely, and it devolves all over again: never has he suffered something so agonisingly perfect in such a short span of time, kissing like this. So wet, and messy, and wrong, and _right_.

Sam started it, but Gene's the one who stops. He's panting, and Sam's face is flushed with colour. Gene reaches up, carefully drags his thumb down the curve of Sam's cheek. 'Alright then?' he asks, licking at his lips.

Sam nods. 'Couldn't be better.' 

'God, _Sam_ – '

Sam closes his eyes, beaming. 'I want to...' He's so close now, pressing against Gene. With what space is left between them, he's lowered a hand down, slid it in between the flaps of Gene's buttoned up coat. His palm is pressed against Gene's trousers, putting the slightest pressure against his rapidly hardening erection. His mouth is close to Gene's ear, too close, breath stirring against it. 'I want to suck you off. Can I?'

'Please,' Gene gasps out, needier now, voice gone rough and ragged. 'Dirty little bastard.'

Sam chuckles, gone breathy. 'I won't, if it isn't what you want.'

'Of course it's what I want, are you daft?'

He must have used to have sense, only when it comes to Sam, it ceases to exist. Whatever he'd come here for, he'd found it – even if it was only momentary peace of mind – and Sam had found _him_. Sam smirks at him, eyes slanted in delight. He palms at Gene's crotch a moment more, more and more pressure, leaning into him, chest to chest. Sam's leads him about as he wants, and now Gene's back is to the wall.

'You so sure of that? Anyone could come round that corner right there, find me...' He squeezes, harder, rougher, Gene grinding into it. 'Down on my knees...' He gropes, more insistently, and Gene groans and bucks against his hand, the way he'd like to slam into Sam. 'Sucking your dick.'

Gene sighs, ragged and lost. They're blocked one way by the rubbish bins a further bit down the way, and on the other, there's the Cortina as well as Sam's unmarked car. It's darker now than when Sam had first arrived; bless winter-time in the north of England. Gene opens his mouth to say something snappy, but the way Sam's lone finger traces along the bulge of his erection causes him to twitch all over. The flask he'd held onto drops from his hand, making a noise like a gunshot as it crashes to the ground, but Gene doesn't care – no, all that matters right now is _Sam_.

' _Just do it_.'

Sam laughs, and Gene almost pops him one for that, but Sam quiets down, back to smirking. His tongue, pink as anything, flits between his slightly parted lips, his eyes dark with lust. 'What?' Gene demands harshly. 'I say something funny?'

'No, no, it's nothing. Just let me...' Sam's hand leaves off and he drops down, quickly – the hands working at the fastenings of Gene's trousers, his belt, are quick and assured. They've done this before, this is treading back into familiar territory – even though they've never risked this sort of thing in public. 'Look – hold your coat back, I don't want it getting in the way.'

Gene pulls one side back, tries giving Sam a hand with the one he's got left, but Sam bats him away. 'Keep your hands to yourself – I can take care of things from here on, Guv. Just relax.' It's less a suggestion, and more an implicit order – he could always argue the specifics, but he doesn't _want_ to. Sam tends to make these things worth Gene's while.

He barely has time to pull the other side back, not before Sam's diving in. 'Sam – ' Gene's voice cracks as Sam surges forwards, slowly tonguing the slit of his cock. Gene bangs his head backwards against brickwork, itching to get a hold on Sam, but both his hands are forced to grip tight wads of his coat instead. Sam chuckles, a soft puff of heat against quickly cooling skin, and whatever Gene meant to say next flies off into nothingness as Sam opens his mouth wide and starts to take him in.

'Jesus,' Gene groans, panting. Sam's got a hand wrapped at the root of his cock, the other gripping at his right arse-cheek, holding him steady as his mouth hollows out. Gene closes his eyes, leans his head back, only just then noticing the throbbing from where he'd banged himself before. Sam makes wet little, hot noises, needy and urgent, as he sucks Gene – slow, but steady, taking him in completely. Always making a show of things, that's Sam, and it's too bloody dark, Sam kneeling in the shadows. Gene wants to _see_ him.

' _Sam_ , please.'

Sam pulls off, slowly still, licks at the tip, and even that small gesture is completely self-assured. 'I love sucking your dick – yeah, I know, it sounds funny, but I do.' He stops talking, swallows Gene whole, and Gene thrusts forward and Sam grunts and groans around him, Gene's fingers likely gone white-knuckled from the hold he's got on his coat. Sam pulls back, licking and sucking and doing everything possible to drive him crazy, holding off from diving back in. Gene strains to focus on what Sam has to say: there are times he pays very explicit attention to what Sam has to say. 'I'm wanking myself off while I suck you. You can't even imagine how good it feels.'

A pause, a breathy little laugh. 'Well, maybe you can.'

' _Sam_.'

Sam's mostly quiet for now, sucking him, sucking the orgasm right out of him. Gene groans and thrusts, harder, spurting in Sam's mouth – and Sam, being the patient, kinky sort, sucks him down and dry. Gene twitches, aching shivers of pleasure running through him, setting his nerves alight. Sam groans harder, and it's that small sound – the way he tenses all over – that Gene knows he's come as well.

'Bloody hell – ' It's hard to breathe, to think, to stand, to lose himself completely in the backlash of Sam's Tyler's mouth. 'Just what did you say before, about not kicking a man when he's already down?'

Sam slides back, unable to answer him, licking and sucking, licking at his lips, wiping at his mouth, having released Gene's spent cock with a loud, wet pop. Gene, dazed, shakes himself out of it, and by then Sam's already helping to do him back up, but he's still not answered the question. He doesn't bat Gene's help away this time, and he doesn't fuss when Gene tugs him up. He makes a small sound, half-protest, half-whimper, when Gene puts his hand on Sam's spent cock. He pulls Sam to him, winds an arm about him, pressing his mouth to Sam's.

The salt-slick taste of Sam's mouth, his own release on Sam's tongue, and Gene gives Sam's (likely sore and overly sensitive) cock a few rough tugs. 'Asked you something,' he growls.

Sam bites at his bottom lip, pushing into Gene's grip. 'This isn't the same thing.'

Gene thinks about it, Sam pressing against him. It's a good enough response, and this really _must_ be Sam on a good day. He stops his groping, starts to help Sam do himself up in turn.

'That was nice.' Sam smiles, Gene giving one last tug on his belt – it's rather beatific, the smile, that is, and Gene kisses him again, not laughing the way he'd like to.

'Nice? Nice? Is that really the appropriate adjective, Janet? A garibaldi's nice. A Sunday walk is nice. Your lips around my cock aren't nice.'

Sam's cheeks twitch as he starts grinning. 'What are they, then?'

Gene doesn't have to think long on his response. 'Decidedly naughty.'

Sam huffs, so hot where his body leans against Gene's. 'I never knew you were such a stickler for grammar.' He slides one hand across Gene's chest, fingers tugging at the top button, not that he goes so far as to slip it free.

'I'll try better next time.'

'Next time? Just how often do you expect this to happen?'

'As often as you let me get away with it,' Sam smirks. 'But don't worry, we can vary the location. I wouldn't want it to get old.'

They share a laugh, smiling at each other like a pair of fools, and while they both grow quiet, the silence is very pleasant. Sam leans into him, sliding his arms about Gene and hugging him tightly. One of Gene's hand finding its way up beneath Sam's jacket, pressing his palm into the small of Sam's back. Sam sighs, softly contended. It's the kind of happy sound Sam doesn't often make, so when he does make them, Gene cherishes them all the more. 

They breathe in, and out, and _exist_ , wrapped up in each other. Sam, a minute or so later, reluctantly starts to step back, and Gene (just as reluctantly) is made to let him go.

Gene gives him a pointed look. Sam shrugs, absently wiping his hands off on his trousers. He looks down, somewhat more aware, scrubs at something on the stonework with the heel of his boot. 'Didn't get anything on you. Don't worry. Come on...' He takes another step away, Gene making a swipe for him and missing by a wide margin. 'Let's get back to the station. Still work to be done.'

'Christ, after a start like that?' Gene's not disappointed – well, only just _almost_ disappointed, that is. He's hot all over, hot and bothered. His pulse is still racing, he can't quite get it back under control. 'Rather just take you home. Could have Phyllis send a couple of plods round to pick up your car?'

Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 'I'm sorely tempted, but even the great DCI has to work a late shift now and again. At least I'll be there to help you pass the time.'

'Isn't that the problem?'

'It's only a problem if you make it into one.' Sam smirks, and why Gene's heart skips a beat, who even knows why. Sam holds eye contact for another moment, before his attention is snagged by something else, something he's spotted on the ground. He bends over to pick it up, straightening up neatly. He turns the flask over in his hand, then reaches out to offer it to Gene.

'Good things come to those who wait.'

He stretches his hand out, takes hold of the flask. His fingers brush against Sam's, hotter now than they've ever felt before, even as a chilly wind blows, as if to remind them of the season. 'Suppose you're right,' he says, tugging on the flask. Sam, wordlessly, lets it go. 'But don't think you've got out of buying me that new bottle of whisky, you still owe me for that.'

Sam's smile widens, and he throws his head back and laughs.


End file.
